


The Naked Time

by Kagedtiger



Series: Time 'Verse [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension sort of resolving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kagedtiger/pseuds/Kagedtiger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and Kirk's first kiss happened under less-than-fortuitous circumstances. A re-telling of the TOS episode "The Naked Time." (Part of the Time 'Verse series, taking place between Future Bliss and Out of Time.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Naked Time

**Author's Note:**

> I know the title may seem sort of funny, but it's not meant to be. This fic is a new 'verse re-telling (based on my 'Timeverse' canon) of the TOS episode by the same title (Season 1, Episode 4). This episode is notable in the Star Trek mythos for a) the famous Scotty line, "I can't change the laws of physics" and b) the scene where Sulu fences shirtless. (It also contains what I happen to think is one of the funniest scenes in TOS, wherein McCoy rips open the sleeve of Jim's shirt for no apparent reason.) I've borrowed heavily from the episode, going so far as to take many of the scenes and much of the dialogue verbatim, but I hope it will still be enjoyable to both people who have seen the episode, and those who have not. 
> 
> On another note, very careful readers of my fics will notice where this fic falls in the Timeverse timeline: three months after Spock and Kirk bonded, Spock and Uhura broke up. Three months later, which is to say six months after they bonded, when this story takes place, Kirk's sexual activity with women started to taper off. That correlation is intentional, and while it's not overtly mentioned in this fic, you might want to keep it in mind. That said, on with the story.

It had started out as a fairly routine mission. Pick up the crew of a scientific outpost on a planet about to collapse, and observe that collapse, recording the data for Federation records. Simple. Easy. Kirk was almost bored with it - certainly watching the collapse was going to be fairly interesting, but more for Spock than for him. He knew his science officer was eager - or as eager as Vulcans got, at any rate - to compare notes with one of the experts on the planet's surface, and then to witness the phenomenon for himself. Kirk himself would have little to do except oversee the helm to ensure that the pilot didn't crash them into the disintegrating planet. Even less to do than usual, it seemed - Spock would be busy with the scientists, and would have little time for their regular chats.  
  
In the six months since they'd bonded, Kirk had become steadily more accustomed to his first officer. In the beginning he'd thought that they'd never have anything to discuss. Their views of the universe were too different. They thought too differently. But in time he'd come to realize that this was exactly what made things interesting. It was like their chess games; Kirk was always found an incredible challenge in facing one of the greatest logical minds even Vulcan had ever produced, but he knew in turn that Spock was equally challenged by his unusual style and constant unpredictable gambits. It was what made the game fun for both of them, what kept them coming back, continuing to play. Their differences, the way they compensated for each other's strengths and weaknesses, were precisely what made them effective as partners. They were a good team.  
  
"Spock here. Do you read,  _Enterprise_?"  
  
Kirk pressed the comm button on the captain's chair to receive. "Kirk. Affirmative." He was expecting the standard procedure calls. They had assembled the scientific party, they were ready to beam up. All according to plan. But that was not what he got.  
  
"All station personnel are dead."  
  
Kirk felt like he'd been punched in the gut. What...? But there couldn't have been imminent danger to the landing party, or else Spock's message would have been more urgent, and would have included a request to beam up. "What caused it?" he asked, feeling his whole body now rigid with stress and tension.   
  
"Unknown, Captain. It's like nothing we've dealt with before."  
  
So much for a routine mission. Kirk sat back in his chair, still somewhat stunned. "Take some readings and then get back here as soon as possible. I'll need a briefing with all senior officers. I was going to have one anyway to discuss procedures for observing the planet's collapse. Guess we'll have something a bit more interesting to talk about."  
  
"Understood, Captain."  
  
"Kirk out." He ended the transmission. Spock didn't know what the problem was. If this was something Spock had never seen before, then they were in for an adventure indeed. They'd have to be careful.  
  
  
  
They took all the usual precautions: decontamination, medical checkups. Realistically, there should've been nothing to worry about. But something about the images Spock had sent back were haunting.  
  
A man, frozen to death in the shower, fully clothed. A woman strangled, lying half-buried in the snow. An engineer at his station, head resting on hands, a blissful smile on his face. A man in the hallway with a phazer pistol drawn and armed. A woman sitting in her room, huddled in a pile of her possessions, her face a rictus of insane laughter. Like the world had suddenly and inexplicably gone mad.  
  
Life support in the outpost had been turned off for no easily discernible reason. In minutes, the harsh atmosphere of the planet must've swept in, coating the place in ice and snow. It was difficult to tell when it had happened; the planet's surface was so hostile that even a Federation outpost like this one, well-equipped and well-insulated, could freeze over completely in less than a day, and then remain more or less unchanged for weeks, even months. The walls still stood, so the raging windstorms from the outside hadn't had a chance to completely bury the occupants in snow drifts. Instead they remained perfectly preserved at their stations, like some sort of horrific ice sculptures.  
  
Kirk's instinct was to run, to get as far away from the base as possible, and report the atrocity to Starfleet. But Spock insisted that they finish the mission, and Kirk was forced to concede. Procedure dictated that they finish what they'd been assigned, and observe the planet's collapse. Opportunities like this were few and far between, as Spock reminded him, and it was their duty to record the information for science.  
  
But he was nervous. They'd found nothing indicating any reason for the bizarre situation on the planet's surface. Nothing on the scans, nothing in the medical reports. Just an empty scientific outpost, mysteriously full of corpses, and them about to engage in a very tricky and dangerous flight maneuver, trying to keep the ship's orbit steady while the gravity and magnetic field of the planet fluctuated wildly out of control.  
  
  
  
The first sign that something was wrong was an altercation in the rec room. The science officer who'd been down on the planet's surface with Spock, Joseph Tormolen, managed to stab himself in a fight with Lieutenants Sulu and Riley. He died shortly afterward in sickbay, despite the fact that his wound had not been fatal. McCoy was in a tizzy trying to explain it, wondering how a perfectly sane, capable man could've suddenly lost the will to live.  
  
Things only went downhill from there. They made the mistake at first of trying to treat it like an isolated incident, wondering what exactly could've gone wrong with Tormolen. Kirk knew already that the situation was suspicious, but didn't want to voice the thoughts, lest it become too real. As usual, Spock was one step ahead of him, pulling down the officer's psychiatric records, searching as Kirk was searching for a reasonable explanation. Something comforting, something that erased the image from his mind of the  _Enterprise_  floating dead in vast, silent space, her crew, like the crew of the science outpost, inexplicably dead at their posts all across the ship.  
  
But there was nothing. Nothing until Sulu mysteriously vanished from his post. Nothing until Lieutenant Riley locked himself in engineering, declaring himself captain of the ship and spouting frivolous and irrelevant orders over the ship's comm, each more bizarre than the last.   
  
Suddenly they were down two vital officers. No one was manning the helm or navigation, and the engine room - the vital engine room, which had been tied into the helm to allow them to warp out of the planet's orbit at the first sign of danger - had been compromised, closed off from the bridge and from reasonable command, fallen into the hands of a madman, leaving them spiraling towards the dying planet without engine power or helm control.  
  
Other, more minor disasters were quick to follow. Reports of disturbances in the corridors, crew members out of control. Everything from mischief to violence, on every deck of the ship. Crewmen having sex on messroom tables, or laughing maniacally in the hallways while they scrawled cryptic messages on the gray walls, Sulu assaulting the bridge with an unbaited fencing foil. In less than an hour, Kirk found himself in the midst of chaos like he'd rarely seen, struggling to keep everything together.  
  
Hadn't this supposed to have been a simple, routine mission?  
  
  
  
Kirk found himself running all over the ship, trying to put out metaphorical fires (thankfully the ship's life systems were still intact enough to put out the real ones) as they sprang up around him. Found Scotty trying to cut his way into the control panel for the engine room door and regain control of the ship. Found McCoy trying to analyze Sulu's madness for a cure with only half the medical staff functioning. Fought his way back up to the bridge to find Spock as harried and overworked as he himself, trying to oversee communications and security at the same time. Station officers were falling fast - already more than half the bridge crew had succumbed to madness. And all of it accompanied somewhat surreally by Riley's distressingly off-key rendition of the song "Kathleen" over the intercom.  
  
He and Spock switched positions, barely needing to communicate. Kirk shot him a grateful look as he stepped into the lift in Kirk's place, a small smile. Spock did not smile back, but he still feel could feel the comforting reassurance of their bond underneath the seriousness of the situation. Despite the fact that it solved nothing, Kirk felt better about their odds. He proceeded to take over the bridge while Spock made his way down towards engineering to inform Scotty of precisely how little time they had left for him to force his way through into the engine room.   
  
"Message from the Captain," the Vulcan said when he finally managed to make his way through the chaos of the ship to engineering.  
  
Scotty, as harried as the rest of them, seemed to already know what he was going to say. "Tell him I'm doing my best. If I cut through the wrong circuits-"  
  
"We have fourteen minutes left," Spock stressed.  
  
Scotty shot him a look that might have been condescending if he'd been less stressed. "Even if we were under full-scale attack I couldn't move any faster," he gritted. "Not and maintain a safety factor."  
  
"At the rate you're proceeding," Spock told him, "calculations show that you'll take a minute and a half more than we have left. You cannot afford a safety factor." He left Scotty to absorb this news and made his way to sickbay to check on McCoy's progress with Sulu. They needed an antidote, and desperately.  
  
But he did not find McCoy in sickbay. He found Nurse Christine Chapel, her hair undone from its usual tight curls and hanging around her shoulders. She smiled at him in a manner entirely unprofessional, and answered Spock's curt questions about McCoy's whereabouts in a decidedly sultry manner.  
  
Spock had no time for this. With no answer from the lab where McCoy had supposedly gone to analyze his samples, he headed for the door, intending to find the doctor in person. But he was stopped by a soft but insistent tug on his shoulder, turning him around, with a quiet, "Mr. Spock," and by the gentle clasp of Chapel's hands over his own.   
  
"Mr. Spock," she said again, her eyes soft and compassionate as they stared up into his. "Men..." she started, almost hesitantly, "men from Vulcan treat their women strangely. At least, people say that." She looked so sad, Spock thought. So tenderly hopeful. "But you're half human too. I know you don't... you  _couldn't_... hurt me. Would you?"  
  
Her eyes unnerved Spock. Such hopeful despair in them. She knew what she was asking, how impossible it was, and yet she was asking it anyway. Spock pulled his hand from hers and took a step back, feeling cornered. Why did this always happen to him with humans? Perhaps, as she said, it was his human blood. Uhura at least had known the risks of being with a Vulcan when they'd been together. She'd known how little emotion he could give her. And Jim, well... Jim expected nothing from him. Jim had gotten involved with him only by accident, and as such had no expectations. It was comforting. But this woman, and others like her... why did they always assume they knew him? Could know him? Was he really so transparent?  
  
"I'm in love with you, Mr. Spock," she said as he turned his back, and he felt as though his heart would break. His hands were sweating - he rubbed them together absently. Something was wrong. He was feeling - too much. Too much. She was so  _sad_! She loved him? Loved  _him_? He turned back to face her again, incredulous. Why now? Why was she...  
  
He looked at his hand, and realization dawned. The disease. Whatever it was that was spreading madness around the ship, demolishing everyone's self-control, she had it. And now, emotional barriers falling faster than he could catch them, he had it too.  
  
Chapel was still talking, closing the distance between them that Spock had imposed, forcing him to turn back to face her. "You. The human Mr. Spock, the Vulcan Mr. Spock."  
  
Why? Why did she feel so much? He could only hurt her. These humans. These poor humans, that felt so much. His  _mother_... "Nurse-" Spock said, almost pleading, needing her to stop.   
  
"Christine," she corrected insistently, "please. I've seen things. How honest you are." She raised her hands to enclose his once more. "I know how you feel. You hide it, but you do have feelings."  
  
Spock felt the accusation like a blow, despite knowing that she hadn't meant it as an insult. He felt. Of course he felt. But he couldn't show it. Couldn't ever...  
  
"How we must hurt you. Torture you." True to her words, she did seem to understand, and that only made it worse. He needed to get away from her. Needed to stop feeling. Needed to stop-  
  
"I am in control of my emotions," he gritted out, trying to regain them, trying to control himself.   
  
She shook her head, still caressing his hands, driving him to distraction with her obvious desperation. "The others believe that," she said dismissively, "but I don't." She raised a hand to his cheek. "I love you," she repeated, and he could hear almost a panic in her voice. She raised the other hand as well, to cup his face. "I don't know why, but I love you, I do love you. Just as you are." She dropped her hands back down to grasp his and kissed his fingertips. "Oh, I love you," she murmured.  
  
"I'm sorry," Spock whispered, making her look up. He couldn't explain to her, didn't know how. The bond. His Vulcan blood. Everything. It was impossible - impossible! "I  _am_ sorry," he said again. What else could he say to her? Say to her horrible sadness? These human women, they felt so much, so deeply, with so much compassion. He'd always been a stone to that compassion, always hurt them, as he could see hurt now blossoming on Chapel's face.  
  
"Christine," she insisted tearfully.  
  
"Christine," he acknowledged. Someone was calling him. He could hear the whistle of the comm in the background, but it was unimportant. Only the sadness was important, the overwhelming grief. He had to get away from this human woman, could only think of her despair, of how she reminded him of his mother, with her soft acceptance of his lack of emotion. Trapped on a planet where no one understood her, where she could touch no one. Surrounded by walls of logic, logic that had gotten her killed-  
  
Spock broke away from Chapel with a sob and fled out the door, desperately trying to concentrate. No. He could not afford to lose control. Not now. He stumbled into the hallway, leaning against the wall. Managed to walk another twenty feet before another wave of grief swept over him.  
  
He'd been supposed to protect her. He was her son, the only other human blood that could possibly speak to hers, and he'd ignored it in favor of the cold logic of his father. He'd left her all alone. He'd let her fall...  
  
Spock ducked into an empty conference room. No one could see him like this. No one should see him. No one should look at him. How could anyone look at him, after what he'd done to her? The cold and emotionless could not love. Could not be loved. He couldn't be seen.  
  
Another sob escaped him as the doors slid shut behind him. He leaned against them, shaking his head in frustration. No. Concentrate! "I am in control of my emotions." Strong. He would be strong! "Contr- I'm in control... I am an officer!" His fist landed on the wall, splitting his knuckles and spidering the wall with cracks. When he lifted it, a spatter of green blood stayed behind. "Duty... My duty is to..."  
  
Green blood, like his father's. No! Simple logic. Mathematics. The table of powers.  
  
"Two and two is four," he muttered. "Times two is eight. Times two is sixteen. Times two is thirty-t-" His breathing stuttered again, and he collapsed into a chair in front of the computer. She'd fallen. Right in front of his eyes, she'd fallen. And he'd done nothing. No. Worse than nothing. He'd made a decision, and she'd died. Because he was a Vulcan. Because he couldn't feel. He dropped his head onto the table, unable to stop tears from coming to his eyes. "I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm sorry!"  
  
  
  
When they finally managed to break into the engine room, Riley put up no resistance, for which Kirk was devoutly grateful. The captain saw Scotty slide into the vacated chair, his fingers dancing across the consoles, and decided to make himself useful. While Scotty dealt with the vital task of getting the engines back online, Kirk busied himself at the consoles across the room, returning control of the ship's systems to the bridge.   
  
"Scotty, we haven't got much time left," he reminded the engineer unnecessarily. The comm beeped, Uhura calling down, and Kirk made his way over to the panel by the console where Scotty was still toiling away.   
  
"Kirk here," he said perfunctorily.   
  
"Entering planet's outer atmosphere, Sir," said Uhura. Kirk cursed silently. Too slow. They were moving too slowly!  
  
"Captain," Scotty interrupted, looking up from his work. Kirk looked over at him and knew from the man's expression that he was not going to like what he was about to hear.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"He's turned the engines off. Completely cold. It'll take thirty minutes to regenerate them!" Kirk stared at him, unbelieving.  
  
"The ship's outer skin is beginning to heat, Captain," Uhura continued over the comm. "Orbit plot shows we have about eight minutes left."  
  
"Scotty," he pleaded, barely hearing Uhura. The man was a miracle worker. Surely he must be able to do  _something_.   
  
Scotty shook his head, his expression just as panicked as Kirk knew his own must be. "I can't change the laws of physics," he murmured. "I've got to have thirty minutes!"  
  
"We don't have thirty minutes!" Kirk protested unnecessarily. Scotty leapt out of his chair and began to circle the room, making adjustments on nearly every console he passed. Kirk wanted to help, but was frighteningly aware of the fact that there was nothing he could do; anything Scotty could possibly do now would take longer to explain to him than it would take the engineer to just do it himself.   
  
Instead, Kirk gritted his teeth and grabbed a data pad, scribbling down notes that were fed directly into the ship's black box. If someone found the remnants of their ship after it was destroyed by the imploding planet, they had to be warned of possible contamination with this disease. There was no guarantee it would die with the ship, and they could not risk further contamination of Starfleet, let alone civilians. His mind was not on the notes, however. It was desperately running ahead of the problem. Engine cold. Engine cold. Couldn't mix the matter and anti-matter. But you couldn't do a cold start? What could they do, then? There had to be  _something_...  
  
"Maybe twenty-two, twenty-three minutes," Scotty informed him after a moment, looking up at one of the displays.   
  
"Scotty, we've got six," Kirk reminded him.  
  
"Captain, you can't mix matter and anti-matter cold!" Scotty told him, as though Kirk were not perfectly aware of this fact. "We'd go up in the biggest explosion since-"  
  
"We can balance our engines into a controlled implosion," Kirk hazarded, his mind racing through everything he'd ever read on the physics of space travel.  
  
"That's only a theory!" Scotty protested sharply. "It's never been done!"  
  
But he didn't say it was impossible, and that was good enough for Kirk. He went to the comm. "Bridge," he requested, "have you found Mr. Spock yet?" Communication with the Vulcan had been mysteriously silent for some minutes now, and Kirk was getting worried. Spock was the brightest scientific mind on the ship. They needed him if this plan had even the slightest chance in hell of working.  
  
That wasn't all that worried him. He'd been too distracted to give it any attention, but he could feel the bond in the back of his mind, and something was wrong. He could feel emotions - not just the pale shadows of things that normally came from the Vulcan, but real grief and sorrow. Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.  
  
Scotty was still talking to him, explaining why Kirk's plan couldn't possibly work, but Kirk wasn't paying any attention. Now that he'd allowed himself to notice the bond, he couldn't seem to tear his attention away from it. Spock was hurting. Spock was in pain. Spock needed him, and he wasn't there!  
  
He shoved the data pad into Scotty's hands and left the room without a word.  
  
  
  
When Kirk found Spock, he almost stopped breathing; the Vulcan was crying. This close, Kirk could feel the depth of Spock's grief bleeding through to him, and was astonished he hadn't felt it earlier. He tried to remind himself that they were in a panic situation, that they had only five minutes before the ship crashed and they were all dead, but Spock's grief was compelling, making it difficult for him to think clearly.  
  
"Spock," he whispered, as the Vulcan raised a tear-stained face towards him.  
  
"My fault," said Spock. "She died because of me. She was always so sad, and I never told her... I could never tell her I loved her, and she died because of me!"  
  
Kirk grabbed his arms, hauling him out of his chair. They had no time, no time! "We're about to crash - four, maybe five minutes! We have to risk a full-power start! The engines were shut off, no time to recharge! Do you hear me?" He shook his first officer, trying to emphasize his point, shake Spock out of his grief-induced haze.  
  
"It's never enough for you humans," Spock continued, unfazed. "I couldn't be enough for her. Can't be enough for anyone. Won't be enough for you."  
  
"Spock..." Kirk didn't want to do it this way, but they had no time. He gritted his teeth and slapped Spock across the face as hard as he could. "You've got to snap out of it! We need you!"  
  
Spock stared at him. "Jim. I'm ashamed of you. Of my feelings for you, of our bond, of the fact that you can tell how I feel. That I feel. God, Jim. There's a reason why Vulcan men are kept away from their bondmates. I can't give in... I can't... I want..."  
  
Kirk felt like his heart was going to burst. Felt Spock's pain. But there Was. No. Time! He smacked Spock again, and twice more for good measure. "You've got to hear me!" he yelled. "We need a formula! We've got to risk implosion!"  
  
Spock grabbed his hand to prevent another blow, forcefully pushing it away. "Never been done!" he protested, and at least he seemed to be focused on the problem now. But... as Kirk looked at him, there was a madness in Spock's eyes that he hadn't seen before. The Vulcan circled him warily.  
  
"You don't even know," he said, his voice low and thick. "You think it's difficult for you..."   
  
Without warning he lunged forward, seizing the front of Kirk's shirt and dragging him up into a kiss. Kirk fought, but the Vulcan was strong, much stronger than he was, and Kirk's mind was beginning to fog strangely. But the ship, the ship! With a snarl, he bit Spock's lip and shoved the Vulcan back at the same time. Spock was startled enough to let go, staring at his captain.  
  
Kirk's mind felt hazy. He knew there was something very important that he was forgetting. Should be thinking about. But he couldn't concentrate. There was a rage in him, a resentment, and suddenly it seemed to take precedence over everything else.  
  
"You think I wanted this?!" he screamed at the Vulcan. "I can't even take girls to my bed anymore! You're always  _there_! I can feel you there, and it hurts you, and it  _hurts_! I hate this! I don't want you to need me! I never asked for this!"  
  
"It's because you were too weak to end it!" Spock snarled at him.   
  
"I didn't know. I didn't know. I didn't think I would need it so bad. I can't stop!" Kirk knew it was an excuse. He knew his position. And Spock knew it too.  
  
"Too weak!" the Vulcan snarled again. "Too weak to let me go, and too scared to accept what it means! You can't keep me like this! It's your indecision that's responsible! Responsible for everything!"  
  
"I know!" Kirk practically howled. "I don't want to need you like this!"  
  
Something in Spock seemed to snap, and this time when he lunged forward, Kirk didn't push him away. Their lips barely met before their tongues did, before Spock was pushing him back against the table, back onto it, laying Kirk out on his back and attacking his mouth, devouring him. Their hands roamed everywhere, and with so much physical contact, Kirk found it difficult to tell which hands were his, feeling whose body. He lost himself in the heat, feeling the full length of Spock's body pressing against his, hating it and loving it at the same time.  
  
There was a sound. The comm. He ignored it.  
  
In the midst of all the frustration of trying to bed women with Spock always watching, this had always been in the back of his mind. Always he'd wanted to punch the Vulcan square in the jaw, but it was more than that. It was this, the heat and the hardness against him and the hungry, wet mouths pushed together and all the chaos in his life that he tried to push down as far into his subconscious as he could. It was instinct, long-suppressed, and now he couldn't stop himself.  
  
Until, that was, he felt a small prick in his neck and looked up to find Bones standing over both of them, a hypo in each hand like an old-fashioned cowboy. He'd obviously just stuck the other one into Spock's neck, and the Vulcan was blinking, looking disoriented.  
  
"We don't exactly have time for this," McCoy barked. Spock stood, stepping back to let Kirk up off the table. His cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears were a good deal greener than usual.  
  
"There is an intermix formula," he said stoically, and Kirk was astonished at how quickly his emotions came back under iron control - he could feel them settle into place through the bond. "It is only theoretical, never tested, but it seems to be our only option. Captain, if you'll make your way to the bridge, I will call the formula in to Mr. Scott from here."  
  
Kirk nodded. They'd have time to be embarrassed about it later. Right now they had a ship to save. "Got it," he said, and made his way as fast as he could to the bridge, McCoy trailing behind him. This would work. It had to. And then they'd have all the time in the world.  
   
  
  
The bridge atmosphere was tense, but they were alive. Alive, and also three days back in time somehow. But alive, was the important part. Kirk looked around the bridge, to see the relief and exhaustion he himself felt evident on everyone's faces.  
  
Everyone, of course, except Spock. He looked over at his first officer, but to the degree that the bond could be closed off, it was. Spock was maintaining his tightest iron control to keep everything running smoothly. Kirk knew that until he was positive that everything and everyone was safe and sound, he wouldn't relax. Neither would Kirk, to be honest.  
  
"Half-shifts, everyone," he said. "As soon as you get off duty, report to sickbay to be checked out by Doctor McCoy. Make sure you get enough rest. It's been a stressful few... days from now. However that works. Spock, you and the secondary bridge crew get the first shift off. Report to sickbay."  
  
Spock nodded curtly and headed out. Kirk just tried to keep everything together.  
  
  
  
Kirk faced the prospect of two very awkward conversations. Not sure which was going to be worse, he decided to go with the more predictable first. He knew he was blushing as he entered Doctor McCoy's office, and kind of hated himself a little bit for it. He was the captain. What he did with his first officer on tables in empty conference rooms was his business.  
  
Yeah, right.  
  
"So..." he said awkwardly, standing in the doorway between the sickbay proper and McCoy's office.   
  
McCoy looked up from his desk and scowled. "What?" he snapped.  
  
Kirk was somewhat surprised. He had expected the teasing to commence instantly. "No questions?" he asked incredulously. "No snide remarks?"  
  
"Jim," said McCoy sternly, "everyone got messed up by that water thing. Lowered inhibitions, complete lack of judgment, and so on. If you don't want to talk about the ridiculously unresolved sexual tension between you and your pointy-eared first officer, then I definitely don't. My plan is to do shots of whiskey until I forget I ever saw what you can't make me admit I saw. As long as the ship and the crew are out of danger, everything else is none of my concern."  
  
"But-" Kirk started.  
  
McCoy fixed him with insistent glare that bordered on the homicidal. "None. Of my. Concern."   
  
"You got it, Bones," said Kirk, relieved, and left.  
  
  
  
The discussion with Spock was not as easy. He waited until their first regular shift had ended - even though the situation was now under control, 'personal issues' was not a good enough reason for the two highest-ranking officers to leave the bridge during their duty hours. But as soon as they were off their mutual shift, they headed of one accord to Kirk's room, where the captain sat on the edge of his bed, feeling strangely exhausted. Spock stood by the door, hands clasped behind his back. Kirk felt the awkward tension between them like a palpable thing, even without the power of the bond.  
  
"I apologize," Spock said as soon as the door had closed. "I should never have attacked you as I did. It was unforgivea-"  
  
Kirk held up a hand, silencing him. "We both said and did things we regret," he said. "Let's chalk it down to space madness and leave it at that. That's not really what concerns me."  
  
"Oh?" Spock raised an eyebrow, and Kirk sensed his relief at not having to discuss what had passed between them.  
  
"No," Kirk affirmed. "What concerns me is something else you said. You said you were to blame for your mother's death. Why would you think that?"  
  
Spock stared at him impassively, but the bond had gone tense again. "I don't suppose you would allow me to just 'chalk it down to space madness and leave it at that'?"  
  
Kirk shook his head. "This is important," he said. Perhaps the other things they were not talking about were also important, but they could wait. They'd put off discussing such things so far, they could continue to do so. But this was far more troubling.  
  
Spock fixed his gaze on the far wall and said, without emotion and without preamble, "When I had gathered the elders on the cliff and we were beaming up, I saw that the stone had begun to collapse. Logically, I knew I had two options. I could attempt to drag her closer to me, or I could hold still. Dragging her closer would move both of us, making it slightly harder for the transporter beam to lock on to either of us. It could also pull her into my signal, resulting in an unfortunate crossover mishap. If I chose to hold still, I myself would almost definitely survive, and my mother would survive if the transporter beam could lock on before the cliff crumbled away. I calculated the latter choice as having higher odds of at least one of us surviving, and thus I made that choice. Because of that choice, my mother died. Because I chose to be Vulcan, and to calculate the situation logically, I could not save her. I have no doubt that you, in that situation, would have pulled her in and taken the risk."  
  
Kirk stared at him. That was not what he'd expected. He didn't know what to say. "Spock..." he whispered, but then there were no more words.  
  
"May I be dismissed, Captain?" asked Spock formally.  
  
"No," said Kirk with conviction. "Come here."  
  
Spock stepped towards him, his face still impassive. Kirk felt overwhelming grief, but he was pretty sure that most of it was his own. The guilt, however, was probably largely Spock's.  
  
"I know this isn't really your thing, but bear with it," said Kirk. "Consider it a human gesture, for the half of you that isn't satisfied with having made the logical choice." And he stood and hugged his first officer.  
  
Spock stood stiffly for a few seconds, but then hesitantly returned the embrace. Moments later he sank into it, nearly crushing Kirk with the strength of his hold, burying his face in the captain's neck. Kirk stroked his hair, hoping that Spock would cry, or yell at least, or something, but the Vulcan did not. They stood that way for only a few moments before Spock drew back.  
  
"Nyota attempted to comfort me in a similar manner when the event first occurred," said Spock quietly. "I am not certain I understood the gesture as well then as I do now."  
  
Kirk let him go and sat back down on the bed. "It's okay, Spock," he said. "And no matter what you think, it wasn't your fault. You made the best decision you could at the time. You can't know that acting any different would've saved her. You might've both died. And then I wouldn't have such a brilliant first officer, or such a good friend."  
  
Spock looked vaguely surprised by this sentiment, and closed his eyes, bowing his head. "Thank you, Jim."


End file.
